The Colorado 2nd
by Jayde
Summary: It's Kyle's second term in the House. Stan adjusts. Poorly. (KB/SM)
1. Prologue: Two Tuesdays

_Then:_

On a quiet Tuesday in September, Kyle came home with a dazed look on his face. He even came home _early_. Stan was worried. He thought maybe Kyle had gotten fired, but Kyle was oddly calm as he shed his suit jacket and grabbed a beer. They settled in the living room, all three of them. Jake was playing with blocks on the floor, telling his teddy bear a story in stilted, half-formed sentences. Stan was quietly fretting. He just wanted Kyle to say something so he could stop freaking out about what was probably nothing.

Earlier, Stan had thought about starting a fire in the fireplace and maybe opening a bottle of wine when Kyle got home. Now he was glad he hadn't. He knew something was wrong. The anxiety was basically giving him hives. The room was already too hot and he felt like he needed a clear head.

Whatever was happening, Kyle wasn't sure how to deal with it. He wasn't angry and yelling about whatever great injustice he'd been served. He wasn't happily popping the cork on a bottle of champagne. He wasn't even his normal self, who hitched Jake up into his lap and listened to Stan talk about his day at the office. Instead, Kyle was watching them both carefully, looking between Stan and Jake like he was trying to see something that Stan couldn't understand.

It took ten minutes of silence for Stan to final crack. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly, eyes slipping from Kyle to Jake then back to Kyle.

"Jared Polis is running for Senate," Kyle said.

Stan wondered if maybe Kyle was planning on working for the campaign or something equally outrageous. Stan was well aware of how terrible campaign staff was paid. Taking a hundred thousand dollar a year hit to their income wasn't something he would be jumping for joy about. Kyle volunteered his time for the party already: he was a precinct captain, he'd volunteered for Clinton both times, and was the most hardass organizer the Colorado Second had ever seen. Stan loved that shit: the grassroots, getting people motivated part of politics, but Kyle lived for it. Stan just wasn't sure they could live _on_ it.

"That's... great?"

"Yeah." Kyle sounded sort of lost, like he was still in his office, like there was a contract he was still in the middle of writing, even though he'd come home. It was Stan's least favorite version of Kyle. "It's great for him. He'll be great."

"I don't understand what's going on, Kyle." Stan tried to keep his voice even, but he knew he sounded like he was freaking out.

"Carl Barrington called me yesterday. We had drinks today. Like an hour ago."

"Okay?"

Kyle put his beer down on the table and took in a deep, long breath. "It wasn't about Polis. Well, it kind of was."

"What are you talking about?"

"He was. I mean, we were bullshitting, you know? About work, about the last election, about how great Polis is going to be for the Senate." He smiled distractedly at Jake when Jake plopped a block into his lap. "He started going on and on about opposition in the House race, how the Second needs to stay Democratic." He put the block back into Jake's tiny, wobbling hands. "I started throwing names out there, you know, for the House seat. Because Frank'd be awesome and Linda is amazing on the city council, she'd be even better in the House. A firecracker."

"Yeah, sure." Stan watched Jake toddle back over to his blocks, which he promptly abandoned for his juice. "You gonna be Linda's campaign manager, or something? Carl retiring from masterminding the Colorado Democratic party?"

Kyle shook his head. "There's. They already picked someone out, Carl. And. The D-triple-C. For the seat."

"_Kyle._" Stan's patience was at its ends. He didn't understand the lost look on Kyle's face, the way he was completely ignoring Jake's systematic destruction of the living room with a combination of apple juice, blocks, and cheerios.

"They want me to run," Kyle said softly. He picked at the label on his bottle and looked up at Stan. He was caught between total panic and tears; Stan could tell from the way his Adam's apple was bobbing and his eyes were crinkling at the corners. "They want me to run for Congress."

_Now:_

It was a Tuesday in January. Late. Stan'd been on the couch with a book for a while, curled up under a quilt. He wasn't really reading, just like he wasn't really watching TV earlier. He kind of hated January. He hated it on principle, but in DC it was unbearable. It was cold, but not cold enough. It snowed, but not pretty snow, just that ugly, grey, sloppy slush that cities got. Not that Boulder wasn't a city or that the snow wasn't ugly two days in. He missed the mountains every time he looked out the window.

He wasn't surprised when his phone, somewhere down by his knees, dinged. He wasn't surprised when he checked it and it was Kyle, apologizing _again_ for being late. It was January in DC-he was certain that no one got home on time. Although 9:30 was late, and bad, even for Kyle. Even in January. He tossed his book back onto the coffee table and turned the TV back on. It was on low and still on C-Span. Some appropriations subcommittee was bitching about funding allocations. Stan hated Republicans for at least three discrete reasons so he instantly disliked the chairman of every committee. And Jesus fuck, this one was from Alabama, so the accent was grating as all hell. Stan also hated Alabama, even though he'd only been there once. Once was enough.

It was the same boring pontifying that he'd shut off earlier. Congress had been in session for eleven days and already there was the usual assigning of blame and deflection of responsibility that made Stan generally feel terrible about the state of the government. He thought maybe most congresspeople cared. They were easy to vilify though. He knew; he'd probably met half the House.

He got up and puttered into the kitchen. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and eyed the plate he'd made for Kyle, hours ago, under plastic wrap on the top shelf. At five he'd thought maybe Kyle would get home by seven-thirty. He tried to be home before eight every night. In a few weeks, he'd be reliably in the door by seven-thirty three nights out of five. In the mean time, Stan was making his best attempt to read through the DC public library and to stay off the comments section on CNN articles. Sometimes he called his Mom.

Stan checked the clock on the microwave as he settled down at the tiny kitchen table. It was 10:15 and he was still alone. He thought about going back to his book but he heard the door unlocking and finally, _thankfully_, Kyle was home. Stan hopped up and jogged into the hallway, beer dangling precariously in his fingertips, and let a grin take over his face at Kyle's harried, exhausted, completely relieved look.

"Hey."

Kyle tossed his briefcase down and toed off his shoes. "Hey," he echoed. "Jake asleep?"

"Since eight," Stan answered.

Kyle came over and kissed him. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"The meeting ran late."

Stan shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. It wasn't, not really. Now that Kyle was home his head didn't feel like it was full of wool or like the world stopped turning. When Jake was awake or Kyle was home, Stan felt engaged. Stuck with a sleeping six year old and nothing but crappy television and books, the world was insanely small and unpleasant.

Kyle tossed his suit jacket on a chair by the door as he crossed the narrow hall into the kitchen. Stan leaned against the doorframe, watching Kyle root through the fridge and come out with his own beer.

"Anyway," Kyle said as he popped the cap off and practically collapsed into a kitchen chair, "what'd you two do today?"

"I don't know." Stan sighed and sat across from Kyle. Kyle's tie was half unknotted, crooked on his chest, and he desperately needed to shave. Stan squashed the urge to brush his knuckles across Kyle's stubble because Kyle hated it. He said it felt weird. Stan didn't manage to stop himself from undoing Kyle's tie, which earned him another tired smile. "We played Uno. Watched The Lion King again. He had homework today."

Kyle was quietly staring at the label on his beer, unblinking. Stan knew that Kyle hated this. He could tell from the look on his face whenever they talked about Jake, like he was soaking in every tiny detail of their day. He _hated_ coming home after Jake went to bed and, most days, leaving before Jake woke up.

"Dude," Stan said softly. He put his hand out, palm up, and Kyle tangled their fingers together. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He looked up at Stan again finally. "I'm just exhausted, and I miss you, and I miss Jake."

"January sucks."

Kyle laughed quietly. There wasn't much mirth in it, but Stan would take any laugh over Kyle staring morosely at his beer. "You think everything sucks, Stan."

"Not you. Not Jake." He took a swig of beer. "I think DC sucks, though."

Kyle cringed. "I'm _sorry_."

"Don't apologize."

"Well, I don't know what else you want me to say. You wanna go stay in Boulder? You guys can go home, if you want." Kyle's nose wrinkled, like the just saying the words left an awful taste in his mouth.

They'd talked about it before. Kyle offered it in the beginning, three years ago, in that other lifetime. Stan could stay. He could drop Jake off at daycare and putter around his office at SolTech. They could live off Skype calls, facetime, and rack up enough frequent flier miles to kill off a species of fish. They were already working their way up in the ranks of American Airlines' most valued customers as it was, with district work weeks and going home for long weekends. If Kyle was running back and forth every weekend he'd spend half his life on a plane. Stan didn't understand how the rest of Congress pulled it off without going insane.

Stan knew Boulder was always an option. His presence in Washington wasn't required, only Kyle's. Kyle was an oddball Congressman for having his family here in the first place. Stan got strange looks for those first two years whenever Kyle had someone over for dinner and drinks. They both hated the idea of spending half the year apart, though, so that's what they'd decided: they did this together or not at all. The thought of Kyle here alone being slowly eaten from the inside by the fucking House of Representatives horrified Stan. So he shook his head.

"No way. We're a team."

That earned him a real smile across Kyle's tired face. "You wanna stay up with me for a while? I have a couple memos to read."

Stan nodded. 'A couple' could be two or seven; Stan didn't care. This was his favorite part of days in DC: they curled up on the couch with a blanket and Kyle read while Stan vaguely paid attention to whatever was next in his Netflix queue.

Sometimes Kyle read aloud the bits and pieces that Allie, his policy advisor, had worded particularly awfully. In between dry sentences on farming subsidies there'd sometimes be a limerick pencilled into the margins about that soul sucking blowhard from Montana and how deeply he loved his cows. Stan found it hilarious but he worried, sometimes, about whether or not anyone would someday find one of those marked-up copies and cause a scandal with them.

Kyle made it to nearly midnight before he drifted off against Stan's shoulder. He'd been up since five and while Stan firmly believed that eighty percent of Congress did nothing at all, he knew that Kyle wasn't one of _those_ Congresspeople. He'd probably spent every minute he wasn't in meetings calling constituents back because Kyle was exactly _that_ kind of person.

And that was why Stan couldn't ever leave him here alone, because Stan thought Washington had a way of chewing people up and spitting them back out without a heart. He couldn't bear the thought.


	2. January

On weekday mornings Stan woke up twice. First at five, when Kyle mumbled _you motherfucker_ at the alarm clock and slammed his hand down hard on it. Stan drifted in and out while Kyle got ready. There was something comforting about being slowly pulled out of sleep by the sounds of Kyle's routine: the shower hissing softly through a closed door, then the buzz of his razor. Stan managed to get one eye open and slur out a sleepy _g'mornin'_ when Kyle emerged, towel slung low across his hips.

"Go back to sleep," Kyle whispered. He always crossed the room and kissed Stan on the temple, murmuring _love you_ against his skin. Sometimes Kyle sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed Stan's back until he fell back asleep. Sometimes Stan watched Kyle get dressed in the strip of light that flooded out of the closet; on those days he didn't drift off again until he heard dull thump of the front door slamming shut behind Kyle.

When he woke up again at seven to the shrill blare of the alarm clock, he groped for the snooze button and then fell forward, face down into Kyle's pillow. There wasn't any comfort in his own routine, just ubiquitous anxiety that built up in his chest until it was hard to breathe.

On Thursday morning three weeks after Congress had been gaveled into session, Stan lay in bed listening to the angry, uneven rhythm of rain pelting the windowpane and deeply hating whoever was responsible for alarm clocks. At least he didn't oversleep again, Stan thought as he forced himself out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom.

He groped blindly for the light switch on the bathroom wall and winced when the fluorescent light bit into his eyes. Last Thursday, Stan was hollering at Jake to wake up with his toothbrush still in his mouth and Jake ate his bagel on the walk to school. They'd already been fifteen minutes late before they even got out of the house. Mornings were better when they both had time to veg at the kitchen table, Stan staring into his coffee mug and Jake poking disinterestedly at his cereal.

Stan convinced himself not to go back to bed while he pissed. As he brushed his teeth, he reminded himself that yes, Jake did have to go to school even though it was raining. He splashed water on his face and told himself he didn't mind getting soaked through to the bone on the walk. He stared in the mirror for a while and considered shaving, but he'd do it later. Now he had to wake the little monster and convince _him_ of all the same things.

A vague, uncertain kind of panic shot through him when he pushed open Jake's bedroom door. Jake _wasn't there_. The bed was made, the curtains were pushed open, and Jake's little blue and green backpack was nowhere to be found.

"Jake?" Stan called out. He crossed the hall into the tiny second bathroom but that was empty, too. "Jacob, where the hell are you?!"

"Downstairs!" Kyle's voice hollered up the stairs. "We're in the kitchen!"

Stan thundered down the stairs, nearly falling over himself as he skidded into the kitchen. Panic drained out of him at the sight of two curly heads of hair bent together at the table. His imagination hadn't manage to form a nightmare situation but just not knowing where Jake was made him incredibly nervous.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, taking in the scene in front of him. Jake was happily chomping on toast. Dressed. Hair brushed. His Power Rangers homework folder was open on the table; he'd been showing Kyle his homework sheet.

Kyle set his coffee cup down on the table next to his cereal with a thunk, arched an eyebrow, and stared at Stan with an expression that was equal parts confused and unimpressed. "Eating breakfast."

Stan blinked.

"I heard you leave," he said slowly. "You slammed the door."

"I came back. Obviously, since I'm sitting here." Kyle motioned to the chair across from him, which Stan kind of fell into, sagging with relief.

Kyle absently pushed the plate of toast in Stan's direction while he listened to Jake recount the injustices served on him by Theo Palmer, who apparently hogged all the good art supplies even though they were supposed to share. Stan heard the whole story the night before at least twice, so he half-listened while he ate his toast. Theo got Jake fired up over almost anything. He was unfair, a bully, and once he'd stolen the cookies Jake brought with him for snack time, which had cemented him as a mortal enemy. Stan kind of liked it when Jake bubbled over with righteous indignation. Despite the dark hair and his tiny button nose, when Jake got going all Stan could see was a mini-Kyle. It worried him as much as it made him proud.

"I just want the glitter, Daddy, but he _hides_ it." Jake miserably shoved the last bite of his toast in his mouth. He looked thoughtful as he swallowed. "I'm gonna tell Miss Young on him if he does it again."

"That's my boy. Let the authorities deal with the problem." Kyle smiled and chucked Jake's chin. "You done?"

Jake held his empty hands up. His fingers were a little buttery but he'd come away from breakfast less of a mess than normal. _Bless_ Kyle, Stan thought. He had magical Jake-taming powers that Stan just didn't possess.

"Go wash up," Kyle ordered. Jake hopped out of his chair and dashed out of the room. "Brush your teeth, too!" Kyle shouted after him as he thumped up the stairs.

Stan watched him absently as Kyle cleared the dishes off the table. He tossed the rest toast and considered a bowl of sliced up fruit before setting it down in front of Stan. "Want some coffee?" he asked.

"What?"

"Coffee, Stanley." Kyle poured him a cup without waiting for an answer. "You looked like you were going to have a heart attack."

"I didn't know where Jake was."

Kyle held the cup out to him. Stan took his mug gratefully, dumped some cream in it, and grimaced when his first sip scalded his mouth.

"Doesn't he ever get up before you?" Kyle asked as he filled his own mug.

"God, no. I go into battle every morning against General Grumpyass up there."

Kyle settled back into his seat, chuckling. "Poor Stan. Locked in eternal combat with forty-seven pounds of fury."

They were quiet for a while. Kyle's phone _pirriped_ with messages every few minutes but he left it clipped onto his belt, ignoring it in favor of watching Stan sip at his coffee and fish grapes out of the fruit bowl. Jake being awake and Kyle being home had shaken the last strands of sleepiness out of Stan's brain but he needed caffeine to feel human enough to hold a conversation.

"Seriously, though. You went all the way to the office and came _back_?"

"Nah," Kyle said. "I went all the way down the street to Andrew's apartment and dropped a bunch of crap in his lap for him to take to the office. I cancelled my breakfast meeting."

"Why?"

"So I could have breakfast with you," he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It wasn't.

January was full of endless early meetings and late nights. Stan fully expected Kyle to be absent until early February. They'd go back to Boulder for a long weekend. Afterward, miraculously, Kyle would start setting the alarm clock for six thirty instead of five and breakfast would be a family thing again, a reason to drag his ass out of bed.

"I'm glad you're here," Stan said. "Who'd you blow off for us?"

"Richardson and Silver-fucking-stein, of course, because God hates me."

"Since when are Richardson and Silverstein breakfast buddies?" That was a comedy waiting to happen. Richardson was a blue dog from Texas. Silverstein was frequently accused of being a socialist by Fox News. Stan couldn't even picture them both at the same table, let alone agreeing on anything important enough to merit having meetings. "Were you moderating a debate? What could they possibly agree on?"

"That the Medicare reform proposal is a terrible idea, apparently, but I'm sure Silverstein was going to go off on a tangent about one of his pet projects. If I have to hear another word about low-income housing subsidies from a legacy admission to Harvard who owns _six fucking houses_-"

"Kyle." Stan glanced pointedly at the door. Jake had a tendency to repeat their opinions in the wrong company, which had already gotten them into trouble a few times. Stan was trying to stamp it out but the last thing Jake needed was more ammunition. "He was good to you on that preschool thing last year."

"Yes, and now we're apparently best friends. And I'm supposed to get behind a bloated HUD bill because he thought giving single parents on unemployment assistance with childcare was _nice_." Kyle splayed his hands out on the table in front of him and stared down at his fingers with a frown on his face. "Ben Silverstein knows about as much about struggle as I know about nuclear physics. It wasn't nice. It was _necessary_."

Stan actually liked Ben all right. They'd had him over for dinner a few times while Kyle was working day and night on his preschool initiative. He thought Stan's work in renewable energy was interesting. Actually interesting, not just that condescending interest a lot of people showed when Stan got talking about how solar powered water filtration could save the developing world. He asked questions, he argued, he did his own research and came back for more.

"He means well."

"He's obnoxious. But I'm sure he'll stop by and offer to take me out to lunch this afternoon so I can hear all about the merits of rent assistance. Which I agree with, by the way, and he damn well knows it. I just have a problem with the thirty two amendments attached to it."

"That's the price of doing business."

Kyle sighed. "Remember when we used to be optimistic about shit like this?"

"What, fifteen years ago?" Stan reached across the table and squeezed Kyle's hand. "I'm optimistic about the guy I voted for. He does a pretty good job."

"Oh, God, don't." Kyle covered his face with his free hand. "You have too much faith in me."

"No I don't. I know you want to do what's right."

They were quiet again for a while, until Kyle checked the clock on the wall above the doorway and hefted himself to his feet, swallowing down the last dregs of his coffee.

"I gotta go."

"Say goodbye to Jake," Stan reminded him.

Kyle shot him a hurt look as he slid his suit jacket on. "No, Stan, I'm just going to _leave_ without telling my guys I love them." He poked his head out of the doorway. "Jacob! Get down here, I'm going!"

Jake descended in a series of thumps. He threw himself full force at Kyle, nearly taking him out at the knees. "We gonna have breakfast tomorrow, Daddy?"

Kyle's expression kind of broke Stan's heart. "Sorry, pumpkin. But how does Saturday sound?"

Jake looked up at Kyle, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "I guess," he agreed. "Only if there's waffles."

"Mountains of 'em," Kyle promised. "Be good for Daddy, okay? And have a good day at school. I love you."

"I will," Jake promised. "You be good, too." He stretched his arms up and pursed his lips, demanding his goodbye hug and kiss. Kyle scooped him up and kissed him all over his face until Jake squirmed his way out of Kyle's arms. Stan dreaded the day when Jake thought he was too cool to demand hugs and kisses from his dads. It was coming up faster than he wanted it to, Stan thought as Jake tore off into the living room.

"C'mere," he said. He stood up from his chair and Kyle slid against him, sighing into the crook of Stan's neck.

"You have a good day, too," Kyle murmured.

"I will." Stan squeezed him once, tight, then pulled away just enough to kiss him. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Kyle said. "I'll see you tonight."

"Late?"

"Maybe." Kyle leaned up and kissed Stan again. "I'll text you."

Then Kyle was gone. Stan was alone in the kitchen. The world felt incredibly small.

After he dropped Jake off in the mornings, Stan was never quite sure what to do with himself. On Tuesdays, he took the Metro to Whole Foods, then spent the entire trip back reminding himself that he was the one who decided they didn't need a car in Washington and hating himself for it. Every other Wednesday he volunteered at the humane society, walking the dogs. The rest of the week was uncomfortably empty. Having nothing to do was still a strange new world.

He went for a jog around the Mall most mornings, when the weather was nice. The sky was spitting sleet today though, so as much as Stan had been looking forward to running until his lungs burned, he curled up on the couch with cup of tea instead.

Taking care of Jake was his _thing_. He loved it. Those first two years had been really great. They spent days in the Smithsonian, going to monuments, discovering these little hole in the wall restaurants, whatever they felt like doing. He taught Jake how to read. They curled up together on the couch with ice cream and watched Kyle on C-Span. They went to the library together some afternoons.

Then Jake started kindergarten and Stan's afternoons were blessedly quiet. Being solely responsible for a tiny human fourteen hours a day hadn't left Stan a lot of time for himself. Sometimes he just wanted to shoot zombies or watch porn without having to worry about who was going to walk in on him.

When Jake started first grade in September, Kyle was in the middle of a campaign and they were all incredibly busy. Jake hadn't even been _in_ school for the entire month of October, because they'd been in Boulder for weeks at a time. Now Jake was back with his little friends, waging war against bullies and bringing home gold stars on his worksheets.

And Stan was sitting in the living room alone, nursing his rapidly cooling tea, and wondering what he was supposed to _do_ without Jake.

So he set his mug down next to his novel and called his mom, because he kind of needed to hear her voice. He thought maybe he was regressing back to middle school, when he needed her pep talks to get his ass out the door. Sharon fed him pancakes and bacon, told him he was loved and important, and sent him off to school.

The line only rang twice before she picked up. "Stan?"

"Hey, Mom." He hoped he didn't sound as awful as he felt.

"Is everyone okay? It's early."

"Everyone's fine." Maybe that was a lie. "I dropped Jake off an hour ago. It's crappy out. Kyle's at work."

"What do you need, sweetie?"

_You_, he wanted to say. "How did you deal with it, after I started school?"

"What do you mean?"

He let out a huff. "I just. I'm lonely."

Sharon laughed softly. "Of course you are, Stan. Watching you and Shelly grow up was bittersweet. Every day, you guys needed me less and less."

"It sucks."

"You could always have another one."

Just the thought of dealing with an infant _and_ Jake with Kyle working seventy hour weeks pulled a groan out of Stan. "No thank you. Do you know how grateful I am that I never have to see another diaper?"

"Well, you can't fault me for trying," Sharon said. "I don't know what to tell you, Stan. He's going to grow up. They don't stay little long enough."

He liked that Jake was growing up, liked discovering the kind of person Jake was going to be when he was grown. That wasn't the problem. The right words was hard to find, especially without laying all the blame at Kyle's feet, which wasn't right. They chose this together. Stan knew precisely what he was agreeing to every step of the way. He loved being there for his kid whenever Jake needed him. He loved that Kyle got to do something he was passionate about. He just wished he understood what he was supposed to do now.

"That's. Part of it."

"What's wrong, Stan?" He could hear the frown in her voice.

"I miss home," he admitted. "I really, really miss home."

"You'll be here soon."

"Not. Not like to visit." Stan's eyes were leaking. He wiped at them, frustrated with himself for feeling this way. "I miss just. Everything. All of it. Just living in one place."

"Have you talked to Kyle at all?" She didn't wait for him to answer. She knew he hadn't without Stan even opening his mouth. "I know you didn't want to be apart, but if you need to come home, Stanley, you two can figure it out."

"No way."

"Stan-"

"No, Mom. It's not the same without Kyle. And I couldn't do that to Jake. He needs us both." Stan needed them both, too, more than he needed air sometimes.

"Talk to Kyle," she insisted gently. "You guys can figure something out."

Kyle didn't have time for Stan's midlife crisis, or empty nest syndrome, or whatever the hell was going on in Stan's head. Half a million people dumped shit into his lap. Stan didn't want to be another problem for him to solve. He dealt with enough.

"Yeah," he lied. "I'll talk to him."

A week later Stan was still lying to his mom. She'd called him every day since last Thursday, asking him in that gentle way how he was feeling, if he'd talked to Kyle about it at all, if he wanted to come visit. _Fine_, he told her and then he filled the silence with a cacophony of excuses, all thin lies on top of the mother of all lies: _of course I talked to Kyle_.

The guilt made him feel worse.

His runs got longer in the mornings. The wet, miserable weather broke early in the week, so he spent his afternoons wandering with Jake after school. He couldn't shake his mood, though, no matter how many smiles Jake pulled out of him when he carefully counted out crumpled dollar bills for Pokemon cards or when he asked the girls at Starbucks for _one hot chocolate for me, please_.

He got home late Friday morning, after eleven. He showered, fixed a coffee, and settled down on the couch to check his messages. Sharon had called twice and left a voicemail, but Stan ignored in favor of the series of texts he got from Kyle while he was out.

_Have I ever told you that parliamentary procedure is a massive waste of time_  
_Are you asleep?_  
_Come on, I'm bored and tired of listening to Boehner's voice_  
_I'm pretty sure Jackson is looking at porn next to me but I'm afraid to check_  
_Come see me for lunch I've been traumatized and I need you_

He cracked a smile for the first time in what felt like hours. _On my way_, he answered.

The walk to Cannon was short. They'd taken on more of a mortgage than they wanted to for the privilege of walking distance, but it was worth it. Stan didn't like the idea of Kyle walking through D.C in the middle of the night alone at all. He was comforted by the fact that it was only fifteen minutes, and the neighborhood was safe. He liked it for this reason, too: he could pop over for lunch without it being a production involving the metro or a taxi.

Kyle wasn't there when Stan showed up at noon, visitor badge bouncing against his chest. Chris, this shaky little intern that Stan felt bad for every time he visited, jumped out of his chair when Stan opened the door to the cramped front room of the suite. The poor kid still was afraid that every move he made was the wrong one.

"Mr. Marsh, hi. Hello." He sounded like a nervous wreck. "The Congressman isn't in right now."

Stan badly stifled a laugh, then felt terrible for it. "Chris, for the last time. Call me Stan, okay? Nobody calls me Mr. Marsh."

"Sorry. Stan. Yes." He ruffled his hair nervously. "Sorry. You kind of startled me."

Stan could see Shannon shaking her head, hiding a smirk behind a briefing book. "Stan," she said. "You're early."

"It's lunchtime. Where is he?"

"It's Friday," she countered. "Kyle's not back from the floor yet."

"You know I don't have his schedule memorized, right?" He dropped into one of the chairs along the wall near Shannon's desk. "He writes down when he's going to be on C-Span for me on the whiteboard so I can watch, and he texts me when he's on his way home."

She gave him a skeptical look. "I can't picture you watching C-Span. You're a Discovery Channel kind of guy."

"I make popcorn and everything. Jake and I make fun of him together."

"Okay, I believe _that_." She smiled. It looked wrong on her pinched face. Stan couldn't ever get used to it. She still scared him a little, though less and less every day. He was endlessly grateful for her; if it weren't for Shannon's no-nonsense attitude, Kyle would probably become the master of his own demise. He spread himself too thin. Shannon had this laser-focus on what was important and she wasn't afraid to yell at him to keep him on track.

"Do you know how long he's going to be?"

She checked the clock. "Unless someone decided to be an asshole on a Friday morning, he should be on his way back. The most controversial thing on the schedule was a resolution to declare February first 'National Healthcare Workers Day'."

"Our tax dollars hard at work."

"We can't fight a holy war every day, Stan. We'd die of exhaustion." She turned back to her briefing book. "You can wait in his office, you know. You aren't a guest."

Kyle's office had a terrible view, just the traffic on C Street and a parking lot, but it was nice, if not cramped, otherwise. Kyle's JD hung on the wall behind his desk. He had a glass-faced cabinet of trinkets his constituents had given him over the years. There was a massive map of the district hanging on the wall across from the window that all the campaign volunteers had happily defaced with good wishes on election night. After two races, it was so full it was bordering on illegible but Stan could still pick out Ike's message, written in green sharpie across the middle: _do good, bro._

Stan took the cozy chair behind Kyle's desk, legs sprawled, and stared at the picture that shared space on the desktop with Jake's school portrait, of him and Kyle squashed into the armchair in the Broflovski's living room. Kyle was laughing, arms thrown around Stan's neck, half in Stan's lap.

Stan reached out and touched the bottom edge of the frame. He didn't understand how to word the mess of emotions that made him want to cry or scream in frustration every day, but part of it was this: Kyle had been his forever, since Stan could remember. They laid childish claim to each other with spit-oaths and then later, real ones. Promises made in front of friends and family in the cramped hallway of the city clerks office.

He thought maybe something was changing, evolving their world into a scary kind of place where Kyle wasn't entirely his anymore, where nights squashed into an armchair together were the exception, not the rule. The thought burned, bit at the back of his throat, made his cheeks wet with uncomfortable tears. He didn't understand a universe where they weren't an intrinsic part of each other, and lately all Stan felt was left behind.

"Hey, do you-Stan?"

Stan looked up from the desk at Kyle, standing in the doorway with one hand still on the knob, horrified look on his face.

"What's-" He glanced back into the outer office, then closed the door behind him. "What's wrong?"

Stan wiped at his cheeks and fought down the embarrassment that lumped in his throat. Christ, what _was_ wrong with him? He'd been in a good mood earlier, after his run. When had he gotten so bad that he dissolved into tears at the drop of a hat?

"Did something happen?" Kyle took a cautious step forward toward him, eyes still wide, the look on his face softening into concern. "Stan."

"I'm fine." Maybe if he kept telling himself that, it would be true. "I'm just having a bad day."

Kyle reached for the chair and spun it toward him. He squatted down in front of Stan and looked up at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth while he watched Stan for a while.

"You've been having an awful lot of those recently." He wiped the corners of Stan's eyes with his thumbs. Stan turned his head away and took in a shaky breath.

"Hey," Kyle said. He pressed his fingers against the joint of Stan's jaw. "Look at me."

Stan let Kyle turn his head and fought against the urge to close his eyes. Kyle's stare was so intense, it almost hurt. He was quiet, just gently stroking his thumb across Stan's cheek. Stan didn't know what to say; he didn't know what the truth _was_ and Kyle wouldn't accept anything less. Everything hurt. Everything was work. Getting out of bed was this horrible thing that got more and more insurmountable every day.

"I just." Stan scrubbed his hand over his face. "I can't explain it."

"_Yes_, you can." Kyle dropped down onto his knees and reached up, pulling Stan's hand away from his face and squeezing it. "Come on. Please."

"Everything sucks, Kyle." And that was really the long and short of it. He hated this place. He hated waking up in the morning to an empty bed, dragging Jake to school, and then the long stretch of nothing. He hated how his days alternated between taking naps and calling his Mom. He hated how he'd talked to Kenny more than to his own husband in the last week. "I just. Feel."

Kyle shushed him and leaned up, pulling Stan into his arms. "I'm really sorry," he said quietly. "I'm serious, you know, about you going back to Boulder with Jake. If that'll help. I'll come home on weekends. I'll call you every night. If it'll make you feel better-"

"No." Stan shook his head. "I can't. Sometimes you're the only reason I get out of bed in the morning." On the worst days he felt like even Jake didn't need him, which was ridiculous because Jake did need him a lot, just maybe not as much as he had before.

Kyle looked so sad and lost when he pulled away. It made Stan feel worse, knowing he put this on Kyle, too. Like he didn't have enough to worry over all day and night. "You're going to talk to someone," Kyle said. "A professional. Please. Just. I need you to be okay. We're a team and. I need you to be okay."

Stan wondered what he wasn't saying. What words Kyle was self-censoring as he spoke because he thought Stan might break. Kyle was all over him; he was petting Stan's hair and smoothing down the front of his shirt. It was stupid that he'd thought Kyle hadn't noticed. Maybe some of the reason Kyle held on to him so tight at night was this.

"I. Okay." Stan didn't know what else to say, really. It wasn't like he was blind; he knew something was wrong inside his head. It'd been a long time since he felt this way. Years, really, but he remembered the emptiness and the exhaustion. How everything hurt and nothing felt normal.

"I'll make you an appointment, okay?"

Stan hesitated. "You aren't worried what people will think?"

"I don't give a damn what people think, Stanley." A wounded look crossed Kyle's face for just a moment, but then it was gone. "Who cares about them? This is about you, and getting you well."


	3. Three Days in February

When he was a kid, which felt like an eon ago most days, Stan saw a therapist once a week. He refused medication-it made him feel like a zombie-so seeing Dr. West every Thursday had been the compromise his mother insisted on.

Dr. West was okay. He'd helped Stan navigate his way through the emotional turmoil of middle school. Stan felt like he had someone in his corner when his parents had finally split up for good. He had someone to talk to about his confused feelings about Kyle, how his relationship with Wendy felt stifling and wrong, how he wanted to punch Cartman in the face more and more every day.

In high school the appointments dwindled to once a month. Wendy dumped him for Token. Randy settled in Denver and didn't come up the driveway drunk on Friday nights, shouting for Sharon to take him back. Cartman got held back in the eighth grade, so Stan's days were blessedly free of him. Spring of Sophomore year, Kyle kissed him and the weird feeling of not quite being alive when Kyle wasn't there finally made sense.

When college came, he moved to Boulder with Kyle to go to CU. He didn't bother to find a new therapist because why would he? He didn't feel lost. The world didn't look dim and shitty anymore. He got a degree and a job. He supported Kyle through law school. They bought a house, got married, had a kid. They made friends. They saw Kenny once a month and when Cartman came around, Stan didn't feel the overwhelming urge to assault him. For the better part of fourteen years, life was pretty great.

Then Kyle ran for congress. They'd agreed, half-drunk on election night at four in the morning, that they'd figure out how to balance this. Kyle would find time to be there for them and Stan would speak up if he was unhappy.

Stan supposed, standing in front of a door with _Dr. William Franklin_ etched into the glass face, that he'd failed to uphold his part of the agreement. He should have said something to Kyle before it got this bad. He'd felt the spiral for weeks and he just let himself get so far down that he couldn't pull himself up. He didn't know what he'd done to get better the first time, all those years ago. He didn't know if he'd really done anything at all.

He promised Kyle he'd do this. He promised himself, too. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

A petite brunette with a pixie cut was behind a desk, talking in low tones to someone on the phone. An ancient TV was perched on a squat little stand in the corner by a row of uncomfortable brown plastic chairs; CNN was on, the volume turned down almost too soft to hear. Stan sat down in one of the chairs.

The woman at the desk hung up and smiled at him. "Stan Marsh?" she asked in that way people do when they already know the answer. She beckoned him over with a wave.

"Yeah," he answered. It took more effort than it should have to heft himself to his feet.

"Will's just finishing something up," she chirped as she arranged a few papers on a clipboard. She held it out to him. He diligently filled out his insurance paperwork and his medical history while the girl chatted at him about the weather.

"He'll be ready for you in just a few minutes, okay?" she said.

"That's fine," he said. He wasn't in any sort of hurry. He was dreading the whole thing, really, so he just went back to his chair and pretended to watch Don Lemon interview some judge from Mississippi about mandatory minimums.

_I'm in the waiting room_, he sent to Kyle after a few minutes of sitting there awkwardly, checking at the clock on his lock screen every ten seconds.

_It'll be fine_, Kyle answered a few seconds later.

_I know_. Stan looked up when a door opened and closed. Still not his turn, he supposed. _I just feel awkward_.

_I've got a vote at 6:30 but I'm coming home right after, I promise_. Stan fought down the urge to kiss his phone.

_Want me to cook?_

_Nah. I'll pick something up. Got a meeting but good luck! I love you._

"Stan?"

Dr. Franklin looked more mad scientist than therapist with curly white hair and hornrims, leaning against the open door to his office. He looked too young for the hair, dressed like an aging hipster with too-tight pants and a skinny tie.

Stan sent _I love you, too_ before he got to his feet again. "That's me," he answered lamely.

"Come on in." Dr. Franklin moved to the side to let Stan pass into the office. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

"A couple minutes," Stan said. He didn't sit down, just sort of stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"I'm Will," Dr. Franklin said as he shut the door behind him. "It's good to meet you."

Stan's face was caught in some awkward amalgam of a grimace and a smile. "Nice to meet you, too," he said. "I've done this before."

"I know."

Will took one of the overstuffed chairs by the windows. He motioned for Stan to sit in the other, which Stan did, perched at the edge of the seat. He was afraid to get comfortable, not until he laid down the ground rules. He wasn't sure if he _should_, if that was a thing he could do, but he was going to try.

"I don't want medication." That was a hard limit. He wasn't going through that again.

Will nodded once, firmly, and Stan got the feeling that he'd been expecting it. He should have known Kyle would find someone who wasn't a pill pusher.

"I tried it when I was a kid," he said. "I hated it."

"That's fine, Stan. We can just talk." He oozed this weird sort of calm that made Stan feel itchy. Nobody should be so zen.

"Sure. Okay." Stan gave into the urge and scratched his arm nervously, staring at the floor. He was never very good with strangers. The idea of just kind of spewing his feelings out to someone made him choke up and want to bolt. "Uhm. What do you want to know?"

"I'd like to get to know you a little today," he said. "Anything you feel like saying."

Stan glanced up from the beige carpet and sighed. He didn't know what to say so he settled on a recitation of facts. Things he was: thirty six, married, a father, the child of a broken home from a hick town in the Rockies.

"You're pretty far away from home," Will observed when Stan finished.

"Kyle-my husband, his name is Kyle-he's on the Hill," Stan explained. "We've been here for a couple of years."

Will nodded. "Staffer?"

"Congressman, actually," Stan corrected.

"You must be incredibly proud of him."

He huffed out a short laugh. "Yeah. I'm not surprised, though. He's determined. Ambitious? Kind of perfect for it, really."

"And what do you do?"

Stan paused. "Like, for a job?" The doctor nodded. "I'm a full-time dad."

"Have you always been home with-what's your son's name?" Will asked.

"Jacob," he answered. "We call him Jake."

"Have you always been home with him?"

"No." He looked away, down at his sneakers. "I was an engineer. I quit when Kyle got elected."

"And you're comfortable with that arrangement?"

Stan paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek. That was the crux of the problem, wasn't it? He wasn't comfortable, hadn't been for weeks. "I don't know," he answered honestly.

"What do you mean?"

"This is all still kind of new, you know? It's been two years, but this is the first time I've been... alone, I guess? Jake's in school, Kyle works all day and night, and I just kind of watch television and zone." His cheeks were hot, he knew he was red and splotchy with embarrassment. He took a few breaths to try and beat back the anxiety that was making his stomach turn. "I feel kind of useless."

"Ah. Kind of?"

Stan jerked one shoulder awkwardly. "Yeah, kind of. I mean. I used to do stuff that maybe wasn't important, but it was important to _me_. I had a job to do that I was really good at." He paused and scratched at his arm again, winced a little. "And then Jake needed me, and the only way this whole thing wasn't going to suck was if we tagged along with Kyle, so I just. Gave that up. And that's okay. I mean, I agreed. I love that I get to be there for my kid whenever he needs me. Watching him grow up is like a miracle. But."

"But you still feel kind of useless?"

Stan blew his hair out of his face and looked up. "Yeah, I mean. He's six. I know he needs me, you know, in my head? I know it. I just don't always _feel_ like it. I don't understand why."

Will leaned forward. "You have a history of depression, Stan."

"I got better."

"That doesn't mean it's gone forever. That doesn't mean you'll feel this way forever, either," he said. "We'll work on it."

Stan was laying across the bed sideways, kind of half-watching Kyle shower. He'd made it home at seven-thirty with Chinese take-out and ten thousand questions, so Stan was grateful for the reprieve Kyle's shower offered from his interrogation and more grateful for whoever had the idea to put a glass door on the shower in the master bath. That alone almost justified the seven hundred thousand dollar mortgage.

"Hey," Kyle called.

"What?"

"Did you pick up Jake's work?"

"What?" Stan repeated.

"Jake's work, for Friday." Kyle poked his head out of the shower door. "We're going home this weekend, Stan, did you forget?"

He _had_ forgotten, completely. "Yes," he admitted. "I'll get it tomorrow."

Kyle sighed and ducked back into the shower. A few minutes later, the water shut off and Kyle came out of the bathroom in his bathrobe, scrubbing at his hair with a towel.

"The calendar on the fridge is there for a reason, you know," he said. There wasn't anything accusatorial in his voice, just a kind of quiet resignation that Stan didn't like at all.

"I haven't been thinking about it, is all." Stan crawled up onto his knees and tugged Kyle into his arms. He pulled the towel off of Kyle's head and tossed it in the general direction of the hamper. It missed, landing wetly on the floor. Kyle twitched, resisting the urge to go pick it up.

"I'm excited, I guess," Stan decided.

"You guess."

Stan shrugged and pulled them both down against the pillows. "I mean, you're going to have stuff to do."

"Just a check-in on Saturday morning, but Karen and Rick are coming to the house," Kyle said. He threaded his fingers through Stan's hair and scratched gently at his scalp. Stan closed his eyes. It felt incredibly good. A little, contented noise escaped his throat.

"Your mom's picking us up at the airport," Kyle continued. "We're going to Longhorn. Kenny texted me and asked if he could stop by. I told him Sunday."

Stan _mmm_'d into Kyle's neck. He pressed a kiss there, fingers deftly unknotting the belt to Kyle's robe.

Kyle shivered and swatted at Stan's hands. "Stanley. Pay _attention_."

"Kenny. Sunday. Something about Mom." Stan looked up at Kyle's face. There was a ghost of a smirk there as Kyle squirmed out of his robe. "I couldn't tell you how much I don't want to talk about my mom right now."

"Yeah, I bet." Kyle's fingers slid down the back of Stan's t-shirt. "So you had a good day?"

"We already talked about this," Stan murmured. They'd talked about it at dinner but Jake was there. Stan didn't want to hide it from him exactly, but he didn't want to drag Jake into the middle of it. He should've known that Kyle would ask him about it again.

"Maybe I wanna talk some more." Kyle was stroking Stan's back softly, just under the hem of his shirt, and it was giving Stan goosebumps in the best way. He didn't feel much like talking. He was half hard just from the _thought_ of sex on a weeknight. Kyle was always too exhausted to do much else but sleep.

"You talked enough for seven people today. I watched."

Kyle chuckled. "Can't get enough of that hot House floor action, huh?" He nudged Stan's chin up and kissed him.

"Not when it's you, all fired up about educating America's children." Stan slid his hand into Kyle's copper curls. "Your chairman's a dick, by the way."

"My chairman doesn't believe in evolution." Kyle sighed and nuzzled a little closer. "I'm pretty sure he can't even _spell_ evolution. He's an idiot who is a perfect example of exactly _why_ cutting education spending is-"

"Shhhh." Stan kissed him quiet.

Kyle pulled away regretfully. "Seriously, Stan. How was your appointment?"

Stan shrugged. He couldn't concentrate when Kyle was pressed up against him, naked and still warm from the shower. He smelled good, too, like the citrus shampoo he used to try to control his hair. "It was fine. We just talked."

"Yeah?" Kyle's hand moved up Stan's back, his fingers stroking along Stan's spine. "About anything in particular?"

"Me. You. Jake." Stan closed his eyes and tugged Kyle back into another kiss. "Just, you know. Getting to know me."

"You like him?"

"_Kyle._"

"Do I need to go put pants on?" Stan rolled and pinned him in one swift, fluid motion, and Kyle laughed. "I guess not."

"Don't you dare." Stan ducked his head to nuzzle against Kyle's smooth cheek. "Yes, I like him. I'm going back next week." He bit down gently on Kyle's earlobe. "Are we done talking now?" he murmured.

"Yes." It was barely a word, more of a hiss, and Stan grinned against Kyle's jaw. This was a thing that he always cherished, even on his worst days.

By the time they landed in Denver on Friday evening, it was going on six o'clock. Stan was bone-tired from wrangling a cranky kid and a stressed out husband. Sharon was waiting for them at the baggage claim, camped out near the carousel, paging through a copy of Entertainment Weekly. He hoped she hadn't been there for very long. Their layover in Chicago had been delayed twice and they'd been stuck on the runway at O'Hare for almost an hour.

Kyle loosed his grip on Jake's coat when he spotted Sharon. Jake tore across the space between them, hopping up and down with excitement when he skidded to a stop in front of his grandmother.

"Nana!" he shouted, falling into her lap throwing his arms around her. The magazine crinkled under him.

Sharon scooped him up into her arms and peppered his face with kisses, laughing as he tried to squirm away from her. "There's my grandbaby," she said. "And my baby. And my favorite son in law," she added when Kyle dragged Stan over to her by the elbow.

"Hey, Sharon." Kyle leaned down and kissed her cheek. She gave his shoulder a squeeze then turned her attention on Stan.

"Hey, honey," she said. "How're you feeling?"

"Good. Glad to be home." It was honest at least. He was the only person in his little family who _wasn't_ in a rotten mood today.

She let Jake escape her lap so she could stand up and wrap Stan in the tightest hug he'd gotten from his mom in recent memory. "I'm so happy to see you," she said.

"Me, too," he replied. "I'm glad you could come down."

She squeezed him tight again and then pulled away, holding him at arm's length and giving him the once over. "I've missed you," she told him. "Of course I came down. Did you check any bags?"

"No," Kyle said. He was struggling to get Jake's hat on his head. "We've got everything we need at the house."

"So I'm ready when you boys are ready," Sharon said. She shared an amused look with Stan when Jake ducked Kyle's third attempt to get his beanie on his head, then excused herself to go start the car and left Stan standing there, hiding a smile behind his hand.

Kyle looked up helplessly at Stan. "A little help, maybe, instead of standing there smirking at me," he grumbled. "Jacob Elliot, I swear to God."

Jake froze. He looked up at Kyle with his big, wide eyes and grudgingly allowed Kyle to shove the hat onto his head.

"He's pumped up," Stan said as Kyle shouldered his carry-on. "Let him work it out of his system."

"If he throws a fit in the restaurant, you're dealing with it," Kyle warned as he made his way to the door.

The parking lot was a slushy mess. Kyle trudged across it with Jake hot on his heels, splashing through the puddles Kyle was trying hopelessly to avoid. The back of his jeans were wet and half-frozen and Stan could see his frustration growing with every step.

"God, Jake, stop," Kyle demanded sharply. "Child, were you raised in a barn?"

"Nuh-uh," Jake answered. "I was raised in a _house_, Daddy."

"You could maybe act like it!"

Jake wilted. Stan scooped him up, wet boots and all, and kissed his hair.

"Aw, dude, leave Daddy alone," he suggested. "He's had a long day."

"M'sorry," Jake said, "but it's not my fault Daddy's a Grumpy Gus."

Stan tried to choke back a laugh. Kyle glared at him over his shoulder. He brooded all the way to the back of the short-term parking, where Sharon's salt-covered Pilot was waiting for them. Kyle dumped his bag in the back of the truck and tried hopelessly to clean off the back of his pants while Stan unloaded Jake out of his arms into his booster seat.

"I think he's trying to do me in. Seriously, in some sort of weird revenge for, I don't know," Kyle said as Stan closed the door, "something. He has it out for me."

"He's six. He has it out for everyone. He's been stuck in airports and on airplanes for like twelve hours. Give him a break." Stan kissed him. "C'mon, we're home!"

A little smile cracked through the severe look on Kyle's face. "I'm glad you're perking up, at least," Kyle said as he pushed Stan towards the front of the Pilot. "I'll sit with Jake."

"Don't lecture him on puddle-jumping," Stan warned as he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.

Sharon made Stan check his belt twice before she backed out of the spot. He couldn't smother the grin at how even now, eighteen years out of her house, she still pestered him the same as she had when he was twelve.

"Have you called your father recently?" she asked as she pulled out of the lot.

"No." Stan glanced away from the window, towards her. "Is he okay?"

She sighed. "He's fine. He emailed, said he hadn't heard from you lately."

"It's not like he doesn't have a phone." Stan hated the way Randy acted. It wasn't solely on Stan to maintain a relationship but Randy, of course, could never be adult enough to pick up the phone and dial. "He could've called me."

"You know your father." She glanced at Stan, frowning. "He wants to have a relationship with Jake, you know, and he feels left out of your life."

"Why? It's not like he doesn't know where I live." Stan shook his head. That wasn't entirely fair. For all he knew, Randy came up his driveway once a week only to find a dark, empty house. He doubted it. "If he's not going to make the effort, I'm just-I can't be the only one who tries. I called him on New Year's, by the way, and he still hasn't called me back. That was, what, a month ago? And he's bitching to you, like I don't _try_."

"Alright, Stanley." She sounded resigned.

Stan was half pissed at himself for upsetting her but they'd been distant for a long time, ever since Stan mustered up the confidence to tell him about Kyle two fucking _decades_ ago. They didn't understand how to talk to each other anymore. Or at least, Stan couldn't talk without yelling and Randy pretended that Kyle didn't exist, which made Stan yell louder. It was better for everyone if they only saw each other two or three times a year.

He looked away from the window when Sharon patted his knee. "I just don't want you to cut your father out of your life."

"I'm not, Mom." Stan squeezed her hand. "We saw each other at Christmas. We'll see each other at Easter. That's the relationship we have."

She let the topic drop. They chatted about other things on the drive to Longhorn instead. Sharon retired back in September and was full of stories about her trip to this resort in Jamaica, one of those all-inclusive places. She apparently spent most of her time on the beach with a margarita and a book, soaking in the sun. Stan was happy for her. Nobody deserved retirement as much as she did. She'd busted her ass for a long time to keep a roof over his head and food on the table. He wanted her most pressing issue to be whether or not Linda Stotch was going to make dry oatmeal cookies for their Hearts game on Wednesdays.

They were a few miles away from the restaurant when she finally asked how Stan's appointment went. He was surprised she managed to hold out asking for that long. He'd expected to be ambushed with it at the airport.

"Fine," he said. He flicked his gaze up into the rearview. Kyle and Jake were deep in conversation about something on Jake's iPad, not listening.

"Just fine?" she asked.

"He's nice. We're talking."

"And you're okay? Really?"

"It's not like it was before," he told her quietly. "It's not that bad."

"I just worry about you."

"Don't," he said as she pulled into the parking lot. "That's Kyle's job now."

She parked and cut the engine, then turned to him again. That serious look was still on her face.

"It'll always be my job," she replied. "You have to understand that."

Stan glanced over his shoulder at Jake as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He couldn't imagine a minute of his life where he wouldn't worry about him.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I do."

"How was Colorado?" Dr. Franklin asked when Stan peeked in his office door on Monday afternoon, latte in hand.

He was late, but stopping for coffee had been a priority. They hadn't gotten back into the house until after midnight last night and Stan was dragging ass because of it. Flying always exhausted him, especially in the winter. Crossing the country always meant at least one delay.

"Nice. Great," he said as he closed the door behind him. "I caught up with my mom, saw some friends." He sipped his drink. It had been good, even if it was too short. "I made some plans for next week. Kyle's got a district week, so I promise I'm not bunking out on you, Will."

"I'm glad to hear you made some plans. I think it's a good idea to try to be less insular. How's your mood?"

Stan shrugged. "Okay. The weather's been nice, so that helps. Kyle stopped waking up at five in the morning so I'm sleeping better."

Will nodded. "That helps?"

"Not waking up twice helps. Not waking up alone helps. The days are better when he's there in the morning." Stan sipped his drink again, used the moment to gather his thoughts. "What did you mean, earlier? About being insular?"

Will cocked his head to the side and just watched him for a few moments. "You spend a lot of time alone. You told me about your volunteering, and that's great, but I think it's a good idea for you to spend some time with your friends."

"They're there, I'm here." Stan shrugged again. "I see them when I can."

"Have you gotten to know anyone in Washington?"

"A few people at the humane society. The girls at Starbucks?" He thought for a while. "I'm friendly with a few people, Jake's friends' parents, mostly. We're not close, though."

"Any reason?"

"Well, one of them is the ambassador of Australia. We don't have an awful lot in common."

Will laughed softly. "No, I can't imagine you would." He sobered. "I think, Stan, as a sort of homework assignment, you should look into some other volunteering. Get out of the house some more. Meet people with similar interests."

They spent the rest of their forty-five minutes talking about the trip. He liked having someone to talk to. He had Kyle, of course, but it was nice to be able to tell someone how much he loathed flying home because Kyle became an irritable mess in airports. Stan told him about the endless stream of delays at O'Hare; how his mom was worried about him; how Kenny came over and brought the dog. Stan missed the dog a lot. He got Chance when he was a little puppy, just big enough to fit in both hands, and he was glad that Kenny volunteered to take him in when it became evident that they wouldn't be able to take care of him anymore with all the back and forth.

Will reminded him about his homework when Stan was heading for the door. Stan promised to look into it, even though he didn't know where to start with something like that.

His appointment ran almost too close to three o'clock. He jogged the distance from Dr. Franklin's office to the front doors of George Washington Prep, worrying the entire way that Jake was going to be standing outside waiting, peering nervously down the sidewalk, wondering where his dad was.

He wasn't late, just barely on time, and he caught his breath while he watched the older kids disperse down the sidewalks. Jake bounded out the front door a few minutes later, backpack bouncing against his back. Sam and Charlie were hot on his heels, all three of them laughing. They stood in a huddle for a little while, whispering furiously, before Sam broke off to run to the embassy car waiting for him. Stan rested his arms on top of the fence, a little smile on his face, patiently watching Jake and Charlie trade Pokemon cards for a while.

"Oh, thank God. You're still here. I thought I was going to be late."

Stan turned his head and stared at a frazzled-looking Kyle, who was rushing up the sidewalk towards him, weaving through sixth graders who were loitering on the pavement.

"Where'd you come from?" he asked, confused, because Kyle shouldn't be there at all.

Kyle waved one gloved hand vaguely in the direction of the Capitol. "I had some free time. He looks adorable, by the way, look. With his little friend," he said, shooting an adoring look at Jake.

"Yeah." Stan paused. Kyle's days were tight and complicated and merited a full-time scheduler to keep track of them. There was no such thing as _free time_ in D.C. "Seriously, Kyle. It's-You've-You should be at work."

Kyle rolled his eyes as he tucked himself against Stan's side. He bumped his hip against Stan's and squeezed his waist affectionately. "I found some time, okay?" he said. "Just. Let's get our kid and go home. Unless you were going to do something?"

He glanced up at Stan, then looked back over toward Jake, who was nodding along to whatever rapid-fire story was coming out of Charlie's mouth.

"No." Stan felt kind of dizzy, like maybe he'd fallen asleep in Dr. Franklin's office and this was a very nice dream. "No plans today."

_Stan,  
Your mom said she saw you last weekend. I wish you called me and let me know you were home. I miss you and that grandson of mine. He's probably grown a lot since Christmas, hasn't he?_

He'd been having such a nice afternoon, too, Stan thought as he read Randy's email.

He knew it was only a matter of time before his dad got around to emailing him. Step one was always attempting to make contact through Sharon, like she was Stan's secretary. Stan himself didn't even figure in until somewhere around step three, which was when Randy apparently remembered that Stan didn't live on Mars and could be contacted by normal human means.

The only unfortunate thing about email as a medium was that Stan couldn't shout at it without people looking at him funny. 'People' in this situation was fortunately just Kyle, who was lounging next to him on the couch with his bare feet up on the coffee table, yawning every few minutes as he read his way through a stack of memos he brought home with him from the office.

He read the email through twice before he gave in to the urge. "Have I ever told you how much my dad sucks?" he asked.

"Only about five thousand times in the last thirty-five years," Kyle said. "What's he up to now?"

"Giving me grief. Here, listen: _I would've driven up to Boulder if I knew you were around, buddy. We never see each other anymore!_" Stan pushed his laptop away from him, almost off the edge of the coffee table and scoffed. "Really, Randy?"

Kyle peered over the top of his memo, reading glasses slipping down his nose. "So he misses you. Tell him to stop by next week or something."

"No way, not when he says shit like '_I want to take you and Jake out to dinner, or bowling, or something_', and I really don't think he means the plural you." Stan slammed the laptop lid shut. "I'm over the way he treats you."

Kyle sighed and dropped the memo into his lap. "I can fight my own battles, Stan. You don't need to ignore your dad-"

"It's my battle, too, you know," Stan interrupted. "He says he loves me and your son, he should at least speak to you."

"_Our_ son, you mean," Kyle corrected. He pulled himself up out of his slouch and planted his feet on the floor, staring at Stan with a wary look on his face.

Stan waved a hand dismissively. "Our son," he agreed, "_your_ genetic legacy, whatever. You know what I mean."

"No, Stan, sometimes I don't." Kyle picked up his memo again and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Randy doesn't like me. I've made my peace with that. Go to lunch with him. Take Jake. I'll be in the office anyway."

"I really don't want to spend an hour and a half talking about the Broncos and trying not to yell at him when he refuses to acknowledge your existence." Stan had to force himself not to snap at Kyle. Randy was one part bumbling idiot and two parts ignorant hick, but that wasn't Kyle's fault at all and he didn't want to take it out on him.

"Do you know how many times I've had to be nice to random strangers who think our marriage should be against the law?" Kyle asked, exasperation leaking into his voice. He tossed the memo on the table next to Stan's laptop, seemingly giving up on it. "I have polling information that says a quarter of the people in the district don't like me based solely on the fact that I love you. I've had people over to this house for _meals_ that are uncomfortable with us. He's your dad. Go bowling with him next week."

"Wait, you've had people like that over here?" Stan asked, outraged. "We have rules, Kyle."

Stan kind of wanted to break things. He wasn't an ideologue about a lot of things, but there were things that mattered-climate change, health care, his own damn civil rights, those were closed issues. He didn't want to be around those people, didn't want Jake around them, and secretly hoped that Kyle flipped them off behind their backs in the hallways.

"Have you heard a single word about it before now?" Kyle asked. "I don't host debates on gay rights in the dining room. I need some of those people for the things I'm trying to do." He tossed his glasses on top of his memo and rubbed at his temples. "Sometimes you have to have relationships with people who aren't a hundred percent on board with you, is what I'm saying."

Stan stood up and stomped into the kitchen. He took a glass down from the cupboard and stood there for a minute, breathing, trying to will himself to not want to throw it against the wall and fill it with water instead. The couch creaked. Stan heard Kyle shuffling across the kitchen floor. He tentatively wrapped his arms around Stan's middle from behind and rested his chin on Stan's shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly. "I'll have those meetings in the office if you want me to."

Stan set the water glass down and turned around in Kyle's arms. He shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was be part of the reason Kyle holed up on the Hill all day and night. He probably _would_ let him host a debate in the dining room if it meant he'd be home.

"No. Sorry. I didn't mean to take it out on you." He dropped a kiss on Kyle's cheek. "I'm not the belief police. I'm just pissed off."

"About Randy?"

Stan nodded. "I see him on holidays. That's more than he deserves, anyway."

Kyle pulled away. He hopped up onto the counter and watched Stan for a while, silent, twisting his hands in his lap. Stan could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

"You don't mean that," he finally said when Stan moved to stand between his legs.

"I do mean that," Stan insisted. "If Gerald ignored me every time we went over to your parents' house, would you want to go there?"

"Dad would never ignore you." Kyle reached up and caged Stan's face between his hands. "My parents love you, dude."

"I know that." Stan leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. "That wasn't my question."

"Mom would kill him," Kyle answered. "I wouldn't have to avoid him because he'd be dead. Head on a pike. Here lies Gerald Broflovski, he invoked Sheila's rage for the last time."

Stan pulled away. "You're dodging my question, you know."

"Caught me," Kyle replied. "I play with the pros now, honey. I'm the king of cagey answers."

"I'm not the opposition."

"You certainly aren't that," Kyle agreed. He thought for a while. "I'd still see him."

"You would?" Stan asked, surprised.

"What, and miss the opportunity to passive-aggressively bring you up every twenty seconds?" Kyle smirked a little and tugged Stan close again. "It's like you don't know me at all."


End file.
